Image of Li Edelkoort from TrendUnion website

In order to examine this proposition, I intend over the next few weeks to explore relevant African history and design to ask the question; what does ‘African’ mean in the context of our industry? And, do we allow the outside world to tell us what it is to be African, or do we have the guts to define and express it for ourselves?

Image from Guardian website.

And what better way to begin than to direct you towards a beautiful exhibit being shown at the British Museum at the moment, showcasing sculpture from the ancient civilisation of Ife in modern day Nigeria. This incredible work is so detailed and fine, exhibiting a diligent and fine culture of craftmanship and representation dating back to the 12th Century. More images can be found at the Guardian’s website.

I hope you enjoy looking at the exhibit pictures, and I hope you might be interested in joining me in exploring this question further.

p.s. I know, I’m white and British. What right do I have to pronounce on being African, right?! Well, it isn’t my intention to make grand prescriptions. But I do run a proudly pan-African business, which looks to the principles of the feminist and black consciousness movements for guidance and inspiration, and whose products represent African visual culture. So in my mind, the question is unavoidable. I hope that makes some sense.

A part of life in South Africa I find myself frequently rejoicing in is the closeness of things. It sounds a rather odd thing to say, but having grown up in an inconsquential city in the middle of England, Cape Town by contrast feels like where it’s all happening.

Cape Town is the most marvelous mixture of small island life and big city bustle. There are too many illustrations of this to name here, but I’ll give you a few.

I have idealised a great jazz pianist, Abdullah Ibrahim, for many years. And one day, I just saw him in a shopping mall. Just like that, in a queue! Or, travelling past the cathedral in town with my mum, a flash of purple will catch our eye, and we’ll realise that Desmond Tutu is tottering past the car in deep conversation with the Dean. Having read and adored the the work Antjie Krog for many years, an email will pop up in my inbox informing me that she’s reading at next week’s poetry night, and I’ll find myself sitting in the front row soaking in her words.

But it’s not just the glimpses of the famous that surprise me. It’s the coming together of different worlds. Hearing first hand accounts of genocide. Seeing children treated worse than dogs. Encountering the wealthiest people I’ve ever known. The talk of miracles, amazement, divine deliverance and joy. The overcoming of seemingly insurmountable barriers.

It all combines to form a feeling of intense technicolour. A sensory and emotional overload unlike any other. And it is utterly, completely and truly addictive. I cannot ever imagine leaving this place.

Camphill Creme Fraiche is my absolute downfall. It is sold at the lovely Montebello based Kwalapa deli, and made at Camphill Village, a place of community and belonging for people with learning disabilities. And it is yum yum yum, especially with a warm scone or a homemade banana chocolate muffin.

(I’m getting used to working six day weeks these days, so I really treasure my Sundays.)

Next up was a trip to Kalk Bay. K, J (my in-laws), Moneo (our dog) and I waited in the queue at Kalky’s, and lapped up our long awaited fish and chips, before a walk to burn them off!

Then off to the wonderful Arkvark. K waited outside with Moneo.

And J and I found goodies inside: ‘Christmas Beads’, a copper star, and a lovely little indigo bowl.

I would have given my right arm for some of their West African indigo cloth (like the pieces here), but that’ll have to wait for another day.

But because I’m a small business owner, the work never stops, so I think I’ll spend tonight fixing the gremlins on the website until I drop off.

New Dreamweaver Playground

On Saturday, Radesh (my man), Janine (Radesh’s collegue), and myself, payed the lovely Nolundi of Mielie fame a visit at her home in Harare, Khayelitsha (no, not the other Harare!). The purpose of the visit, other than to see Nolundi of course, was to see the brand new, architectural-award-winning public square that was recently built there. And wow, was it amazing. For those of you far away, Khayelitsha is a ‘township’ on the edge of Cape Town, housing around a million people. Conditions vary greatly – from lovely two storey houses, to wobbly shacks. There are some major public health and safety issues which affect the people who live there. In all the years I’ve worked in Khayelitsha, I struggle to think of a public space which has been so well thought out and is so dignified as the new square.

Here are some more photos:

A football coach intersperses football lessons with life skills education.

Previously just a dusty patch of land that people walked through, the square now boasts two small public buildings (one funded by FIFA), a state of the art, organic kids playground, an astroturf football pitch, two small public grass fields, and excellent lighting.

A new building, featuring locally made mosaic work.

It was so pretty!

Football for Hope Centre, so new they're still making the sign!

Nolundi showing us round.

The square. Just gorgeous.

We left with uplifted spirits, and the firm conviction that if you’re going to do something, you should do it properly. The architects and builders responsible for this project certainly did. Wow.

Last night was my respite night. I struggle to imagine a more perfect evening – swimming at Sea Point with my lovely man, dinner with two gorgeous friends, watching No1. Ladies Detective Agency on DSTV together as the sun sets past Table Mountain, then closing the shutters and falling asleep watching Jamie Oliver. I woke up to the sound of traffic, and it suddenly struck me how much I miss that sound. I always grew up next to big main roads, the sound of trucks and trundling cars calms me, strangely enough.

I call it respite because, at heart, I’m a city girl, but I live in the sleepy suburbs. Recent drama with house break ins and the stresses of trying to sort out our huge garden, have made me resent my neighbourhood a little. So I sojourned to J’s central city apartment. What bliss!

On my walk to the bus stop this morning, I went past Lola’s, and to my horror it was closed, with major renovations going on inside! Lola’s was my favourite haunt when I lived in Long Street 9 years ago. Easily the campest place on earth, it served good liquor and vegetarian food. Yum.

I hope it’ll still be Lola’s after the renovations. But I’ve got the feeling it won’t be. I guess this is the price we pay for getting the 2010 World Cup, the city is changing so fast I can barely keep up!